


Gods and Monsters

by Morgelyn



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Blasphemy, Cutting, Drowning, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Underage, Knifeplay, M/M, POV Ramsay Bolton, Psychological Torture, Ramsay Bolton is His Own Warning, Thramsay - Freeform, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:14:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22665349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgelyn/pseuds/Morgelyn
Summary: Ramsay discovers that his pet still harbours an allegiance to a god other than himself. Well, something would have to be done about that.
Relationships: Ramsay Bolton/Theon Greyjoy, Ramsay Bolton/Theon Greyjoy/Reek
Comments: 10
Kudos: 84





	Gods and Monsters

Ramsay was having a very pleasant afternoon. His pet was suspended from the ceiling by manacles round his thin wrists and more chains kept his feet flat on the floor, causing him to be held taut with his hands above his head. The stretch would be uncomfortable and his maimed hands had likely lost any feeling beyond pins and needles long ago, but the position was not deliberately painful. At least, not compared to the array of cuts decorating the gaunt flesh. 

Ramsay smiled as he circled the bound figure, appreciating his handiwork. The cuts were numerous but shallow, barely even breaking the skin but just deep enough to part the top few layers. Just deep enough to hurt. He doubted most of them would even scar, other than in those places were his sharp knife had glided over the bones most prominent beneath the papery skin – clavicles, ribs, jagged hipbones. The latter was an area of particular interest, as the number of incisions there testified. His little Reek had grown so thin that the full shape of his pelvis was beginning to emerge, framing the delightful slit Ramsay had created there when he took the last remaining piece of that jumped-up fucker of a lordling. Yes, a frame of jutting bone, festooned in tiny cuts and daubed with four-finger bruises, all beneath the taut canopy of a hollow, empty belly. Ramsay was beginning to understand the appeal of being an artist. 

He stepped behind Reek now and ran his knife horizontally over the back of a scrawny thigh. He was rewarded with a small moan from his pet as he writhed weakly, as much as the bonds allowed. When they had started this game, Reek had screamed and begged with every touch of the knife, abrading his wrists and ankles as he struggled wildly. But that had been hours ago. Now all he did was twitch and whimper, tears streaming down his cheeks. 

The tears flowed more freely than the blood, Ramsay noted. The cuts were too shallow to bleed much anyway, and Reek had not been given water for a day, maybe longer. His blood was made viscous by dehydration and so what little there was merely trickled and oozed. 

But Ramsay did not mind the lack of blood on this occasion; it gave him a better view of the cuts, the way they opened and closed with Reek's every small movement. The way they would occasionally gape like a girl's cunt. He remembered the first time he had seen a cunt and how it had reminded him of nothing so much as a wound. He had been around fourteen then and newly arrived at his father's house, and she had just been some slut, a kitchen maid or some such thing. It hadn't taken much to overpower her – he had been big for his age – and by the time he had finished, the comparison to a wound was more apt than ever. He smiled at the memory, and turned his blade to the sensitive skin beneath Reek's left armpit. 

As the game continued into the evening, Reek's responses to the knife became less and less apparent until they eventually stopped altogether. Only the rise and fall of his narrow chest reassured Ramsay that he had not gone too far. His head sagged down to his chest, face obscured by his lank, pale hair. Ramsay grabbed a handful of this now and yanked him up, but again there was no reaction. Reek's eyes were open but unfocussed, seemingly looking at something far off in the distance that only he could see. The little sod had escaped into delirium. Well, that was something to punish him for later, once he had recovered enough of his senses to fully appreciate it. 

Reek's lips were also moving; slight, almost imperceptible movements in his slack face. Ramsay inclined his ear close and could hear ragged whispers. The words were vague and made little sense, but it appeared to be a litany of some sort. The only words he could make out plainly were references to the Drowned God, to drowning and returning reborn, to how that which was dead would never die.

Ramsay let go of Reek's hair, letting his head fall back limply to his chest, and scowled. Maybe a little more of that Greyjoy shit had survived than he had supposed. And even worse, his pet appeared to venerate another over himself! That wasn't right. He had created Reek and so he should be the centre of his world; he was the only one entitled to his love, his worship. Ramsay couldn't have that. Something would have to be done. 

~~~

As the remains of dinner were being cleared from the hall that evening, Ramsay sat with Locke, talking and sharing some of the good wine.

“What do you know about Iron Island religion?”

Locke scoffed. “A variation on the sort of superstitious bollocks you find anywhere. You worship this Drowned God and then when you die, he welcomes you to his hall to eat and drink and get sucked off by mermaids for the rest of eternity.”

Ramsay laughed. “All these religions seem to share a common theme: do what you're told now in order to receive a highly unlikely-sounding reward later.”

“A reward you only get once your dead,” said Locke. “So you can't make any complaints if it turns out not to be forthcoming.”

“And what about this ritual drowning?”

“All part of the same thing, as far as I understand it. That's how you worship the Drowned God, pledge yourself to him. You damn near drown yourself in seawater and, if you survive, that's it – guaranteed eternity with a full belly and fishy lips round your cock.”

“A fine and noble incentive indeed, and well worth the risk of drowning,” said Ramsay with a sarcastic grin. “These Ironborn must be stupid.”

“Oh, they're fucking idiots all right,” agreed Locke. “There was this Ironborn reaver I caught down near the Stony Shore trying to loot supplies bound for your father's army. Stupid sod didn't even have the wits to be scared when I cut off his arms and legs. Kept going on about how the Drowned God would take him as an oarsman, even without them. It wasn't until I threatened to bury him in a watertight box that he started bawling. You see, they need the water after they die to make their way to the Drowned God's halls.”

“Did you do it?” asked Ramsay, clearly amused. 

“Of course not,” said Locke. “Burned the body with the rest. It's all a load of bollocks anyway. But he didn't need to know that, did he? Died crying like a babe. In fact, I seem to recall he pissed himself before the end. Maybe he thought that would be water enough to do the trick.”

They both laughed, and Locke poured them more wine. 

“Has this got anything to do with that pet kraken of yours?” 

Ramsay gave an enigmatic smile. “Perhaps.” Then he got up and clapped his friend on the back. “But thank you, as ever, for such informative and entertaining conversation.”

~~~

Ramsay had a few preparations to make, so it wasn't until the following evening that he had Reek brought to him. His pet shambled into the room gingerly, even more so than his usual hobbling gait, presumably in an effort to not reopen any of the barely healed cuts festooning his body. And judging by the many splodges of blood that soaked through his rags, his efforts had not been particularly successful. 

“Ah, Reek – there you are,” said Ramsay with a broad smile. Not only had anticipation put him in a genuinely buoyant mood, he knew that his pet found his gaiety most unnerving.

Reek's eyes twitched as he clearly struggled to think of the right reply. In the end, he merely hung his head in a shaky bow. “My lord.”

“I must say, Reek, I was most disappointed by what happened yesterday.” He paused in order to enjoy the look of wide-eyed panic prompted by his words, but did not let the smile leave his face or voice. “I go to all that time and trouble to arrange a game, and you did not seem to even appreciate it.”

Reek was trembling wildly now, his mouth opening and closing in terror.

“And what's more, you did not even give me the courtesy of your full attention. You wound me, Reek.” Ramsay allowed himself to smile at his own ironic joke, but Reek was clearly too panicked to notice. 

“My lord, I'm sorry, I didn't, I wouldn't...” It amused Ramsay to see how hard he tried to control his babbling. “You always have my full attention, my lord, you are all I think about, ever.”

“I wish I could believe that, Reek, I really do.” Ramsay dropped the smile in an instant, and shook his head gravely. “But when you ignore me in favour of this Drowned God of yours, what am I to think?”

Reek now began to panic in earnest. He clearly did not remember any of this – he had been barely conscious at the time – but he was surely well aware by now the Ramsay would not accept ignorance as an excuse. Almost hyperventilating, he dropped to his knees, reopening several cuts in the process, and began to cry. 

“But never fear, my pet,” Ramsay said with a smirk. “I have arranged for you to meet with this Drowned God and we shall solve the problem, once and for all.” He gestured to a wooden cistern in the room behind him. It was larger than a bath, larger even than the horse trough in the stables. Large enough, as Ramsay had insisted, in which to drown a man. Or rather, a creature that used to be a man. 

Reek was still breathing fast, but he looked up with his enormous blue-green eyes. Ramsay noticed something like hope reflected in them, and it was all he could do to avoid laughing out loud. His stupid, naïve little Reek was hoping that he was going to actually drown him, to let him die. How could he think that he would let such a treasure go so easily?

Ramsay continued with his explanation. “It isn't actually seawater, of course; we're too far from the coast for that. But it is from the Weeping Water, which is connected to the sea, so I think it will suffice. And besides,” Ramsay allowed his face to split into a grin. “I have also made certain that extra salt has been added, a huge amount of salt. Just to be sure.”

Ramsay watched intently as terrible realisation spread across Reek's face. His pet's mind worked more slowly nowadays, but even he didn't take long to comprehend how salt water would feel on the myriad cuts across his body.

“My lord, please,” he began to babble, wringing his mangled hands. “Please, I don't care about the Drowned God or any gods, I don't care about anything but you. Please, my lord...” He was weeping openly now and flinched as the salty tears flowed over a shallow cut on his jaw. Ramsay smiled at the mild precursor of what was to come.

“Come now, Reek. Take off those rags. You have an appointment with a god.” 

Still weeping, Reek slowly stood to obey. He winced as he did so, as blood had soaked into the fabric and stuck it to the wounds in places. More open cuts for the salt to punish.

When he was naked, Ramsay picked him up like a bride. As ever, he marvelled at his pet's lightness – he was little more than skin and bone now, skin and bone permeated with fear, misery and pain. 

Ramsay lifted him over the cistern and hesitated for only the merest moment before plunging him in. Immediately, he began to thrash and scream, the salt finding every opening in his skin and burning. His eyes were wide as saucers. Ramsay allowed this to continue for a while, then grabbed the back of his neck and pushed his head under the water. He was still screaming, the bubbles rising to the surface as the salt water filled his lungs. Ramsay held him there after the screaming stopped, after his thrashing slowed to nothing. Only when his pet's grip on his wrist began to slacken did he lift him out of the water and lay him on the floor. His mouth was gaping as he moved weakly. Like a landed fish, Ramsay thought with amusement. Eventually he began to cough, clearing the water from his lungs. 

Ramsay could see that the salt still burned his wounds by the way he flinched in all directions, trying in vain to get away from the painful substance that coated every inch of his frail body. 

“So,” said Ramsay, looking down at his pet. “Did you meet the Drowned God down there?”

Reek shook his head, giving rise to another fit of coughing. His voice was cracked when he eventually spoke. “No, my lord.”

“And was it the Drowned God who brought you back?”

“No, my lord.”

“Who was it you met down there? Who was it who made you rise again?”

Reek gave a harsh sob and looked to the floor. “You, my lord,” he said quietly. “Only you.”

Ramsay was elated. “So I suppose that means that you are pledged to me now? That it is my halls you will inhabit for eternity? That I am your god now?”

“Yes, my lord,” came Reek's dejected reply. His voice was so thick with misery that Ramsay knew he spoke honestly, that he had accepted this as his truth. 

“Well then, Reek,” said Ramsay, smile wide and voice dripping with ironic magnanimity. “If I am your god, then you should get down on your knees and worship me.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Reek struggled to his knees, flesh still stinging with salt and hot shame, as Ramsay smiled down in triumph and began to unlace his breeches.


End file.
